


Happy Birthday

by LilyEllison



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Birthday, Birthday Presents, Birthday Smut, Bittersweet, Established Relationship, F/M, Face-Sitting, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22458562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyEllison/pseuds/LilyEllison
Summary: A bittersweet commemoration in three acts:1. And Many - Matt gets a gift2. Happy - Karen gets a gift3. Returns - Karen makes a wish(The smut is contained to Chapter 2 and is skippable if you prefer.)
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Karen Page
Comments: 37
Kudos: 36





	1. And Many

**Author's Note:**

> Written in October, for Matt's actual birthday, thanks to a prompt from Quietshade. Posting now that the blackmail provisions have expired. ;)

Something was wrong.

Karen blinked into the too-bright morning light streaming into her apartment and grabbed for her phone on the bedside table.

It was dead. That meant no alarm. And she had no idea what time it was. She groaned and plugged it in — something she’d forgotten to do when she dropped into her bed around 4:30 a.m., still dressed, and fell immediately into a black hole of sleep. Life as an investigator could be rough, especially when a stakeout lasted three damn nights.

Her phone didn’t come back on right away — it must’ve been really, really drained — so she rolled to her feet and walked into the kitchen. The oven reflected the bad news back to her.

9:02 a.m.

Fuck.

For a moment, she wanted to cry. Matt would have turned his phone over to the security station at least 10 minutes ago. He’d picked today of all days to line up interviews back to back to back with three of their clients who were being held at Rykers.

And that meant there was no way she was going to get a chance to talk to him until at least this afternoon. She’d missed the chance to wish him a happy birthday. He probably thought she’d _forgotten_.

Ugh. They’d never really talked much about it, but Karen figured spending a good portion of his childhood in an orphanage meant that birthdays hadn’t been the happiest of occasions for most of his life. Her own birthday was one of the days she missed her family the most.

She’d hoped to make today special. She couldn’t make up for the past, but she could spoil him a bit in the present.

Ideally, they would have woken up together, and she could have made him breakfast — or maybe taken him out for something yummy. But her plans had been wrecked by her hunt for an informant for one of their cases, and instead Matt had started his day alone before heading to the prison. (Foggy still refused to show his face there, after “his” narrow escape from the “riot” last year.)

Well, she couldn’t do anything about it now. And if she didn’t get her act together soon, she’d miss her window to pick up Matt’s birthday surprise from Westchester. She’d meant to make the trip over the weekend, but that plan had also gotten messed up by their informant going to ground. She hoped the guy — who had finally turned up last night — would at least cooperate and make this all worth it. She hoped Matt had put the fear of God into him. Or, more accurately, the fear of the Devil.

* * *

Karen checked the address one last time before pulling into the driveway of a tidy, white two-story home surrounded by trees. The red and orange leaves crunched under her feet as she walked to the front door.

The man who answered was burly and smiling. He helped her load the box into her trunk and it wasn’t long before she was speeding back south toward Manhattan, enjoying the wind in her hair on a gorgeous autumn day.

Of course Matt had been born in October. It was her favorite — a month of crisp nights and warm afternoons, of scarves and sweaters and boots, of excuses to drink as many hot beverages as her heart desired. October was full of things to love.

When she pulled into her parking spot, she tried calling Matt. Still no answer. Feeling drunk on sunshine, she sang into his voicemail — _happy birthday, dear Matthew, happy birthday to you_ — and mentally blew him a kiss before carrying the box into her apartment.

* * *

“Go ahead, open it,” she told him later. They were finally together after an afternoon of trading quick texts between meetings and getting held up with work for longer than they’d hoped. When the time for their dinner reservation came and went, Karen rolled her eyes and officially gave up on giving Matt the special kind of birthday she’d wanted.

But at least she could still give him his gift. She’d gone home, loaded the box into a cab and stopped for takeout on the way before trudging up the steps to his apartment. She thought he’d hear her coming and help with the bulky damn thing, but he didn’t. And when she stepped through the door, she quickly saw why.

He was asleep on the couch. She couldn’t imagine how exhausted he must be to sleep through her coming up the stairs and actually into his apartment. But she kind of loved the idea that the sound of her was so familiar to him now that it didn’t immediately put him on alert. She was a regular presence in his apartment, a fixture in his life.

She stepped away from the table after putting down her things and walked over to the couch, admiring him in the lazy blue light from the billboard. Matt’s hair was messy and his collar pulled open and he looked so tender and unguarded. She thought about letting him sleep, but she knew he’d be upset with her later if she did.

So she sat down next to him, kicking off her shoes and leaning her head on his shoulder. “Happy birthday, handsome,” she said into his ear. He immediately smiled, his eyes still closed, and she nuzzled into his neck. “Too much partying today?”

“I wish,” he murmured and turned his head so he was facing her. She kissed him — long, slow, drowsy kisses that left her unsure if she was waking him up or if he was pulling her into dreamland. But finally, he broke away.

“Karen, I don’t know how to say this without offending you, but one of the things you brought really doesn’t smell great.”

“I’ve never heard you talk about Shanghai Peking that way,” she laughed.

“Not the food,” he said with amusement. “Something smells like dust and...stale cigarette smoke.”

“Oh, that.” She smiled sweetly. “ _That_ is your birthday present.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” he said, his brows knitting together.

“C’mon,” she said, getting up and tugging on his hand until he groaned and forced himself off the couch. He was limping slightly.

“You didn’t get into any fights at the prison today, did you?”

“No. Our friend last night managed to land a lucky kick before he realized I just wanted information.” Matt ran his free hand over his face. “But I think I got what we need.”

“Good,” Karen said, stopping them at the table, directly in front of the box. Matt waited until she urged him to find out what was inside before touching it.

“I saw an obit in the Bulletin a few weeks ago,” she said as Matt lifted the lid. “The guy was an amateur historian who lived most of his life in Hell’s Kitchen and collected all kinds of stuff about the neighborhood in the old days. It mentioned he had a special interest in boxing. So I followed up.”

She watched as Matt’s fingertips began to run gently over the yellowed newspaper clippings and old posters inside the box.

“The guy’s son is trying to give the collection away, but the historical society would only take so much. He was very happy that someone was interested in this.”

Matt picked up a faded leather boxing glove.

“Your dad signed that for a fan,” Karen said. “There are plaques and handmade signs and all kinds of things from his heyday. We can go through it all together.”

Matt put the glove back in the box carefully and then his arms were around her. “Thank you,” he said, squeezing her tightly to him.

“Well, really you should be thanking the collector, but—” He cut her off with a kiss.

“I love you,” he said. And those words were still new enough that her heart skipped a beat when she heard them.

“I love you, too,” she said when her voice was strong enough. “Happy birthday.”

He held her closer and she laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in the smell of his shirt and his skin.

“I wasn’t allowed to keep much,” he said, his hand stroking over her hair. “Just what would fit in the trunk. The most important stuff.” He made an amused sound. “Dad wasn’t really the nostalgic type anyway. He was more about living in the moment. I don’t know how much of this kind of stuff he even kept.”

“Well, someone thought collecting all of this was worth it.”

“Yeah,” Matt agreed, his voice sounding far away. “It’s easy to forget. To only think about the later part of his career. But he had wins before all the losses started piling up. Before things got rough.”

“He clearly meant a lot to people,” Karen said softly. She lifted her head and ran her fingers through the hair at his temple. “Just like you.”

Matt smiled, just a little. “Thank you for a perfect birthday,” he said.

“Perfect?” she laughed, her eyebrows lifting as she thought of how hectic her day had been, let alone his.

“Of course it’s perfect,” he said. “You’re here.”

And there was only one way to respond to that. It didn’t involve words.


	2. Happy

Something was wrong.

Karen blinked into the darkness, her surroundings slowly coming into focus. It was the dead of night and she was in Matt’s bed. Neither of those things were unusual these days. But there something off, something that had tugged her awake.

She was too warm. Matt’s body was curved around hers, his arm a solid band around her middle. _Wait_.

It was the dead of night. And she was in Matt’s bed. And Matt was here too.

He hadn’t gone out.

She didn’t know what time it was exactly, and she didn’t want to risk moving to check, but it didn’t _feel_ late enough for him to have gone out and come back. And it was unlikely she would have slept through it, not _both_ the going and the coming back.

He hadn’t gone out.

Matt didn’t hit the streets every single night, but usually when he was taking a night off, it was either because they had planned it in advance or because he was too injured. And sometimes he went out despite their plans or his injuries. So this was different. Maybe this was his birthday present to himself. Sleep.

Karen closed her eyes again and focused on his breathing, the shallow movement of his chest against her back. She ignored the fact that she was too warm for comfort. She wanted to enjoy this. They’d fallen into bed for what she expected to be a pre-Daredeviling nap after taking just a few bites of a very late dinner each. Matt’s gift had been wrapped in a plastic bag and tucked away in the closet to hopefully tamp down the smell a bit until they could buy airtight storage. 

They’d been too exhausted for more than a few kisses — they’d just snuggled up together and fallen immediately asleep. That in itself was disappointing, but then nothing about Matt’s birthday had gone as Karen planned. She had imagined a very different kind of night. And just thinking about it again now was starting to make her overheating problem even worse. She wanted to kick off the covers, feel the cool air on her skin, turn around and kiss Matt awake.

But she couldn’t. He needed the sleep so badly.

Except—

He wasn’t asleep.

He was kissing her neck. She felt guilty for a moment, but then she thought that maybe _his_ stirring had woken _her_ up and anyway it didn’t matter because now she could push the covers down and rearrange herself in his arms.

She turned around to face him, laying her head on the pillow next to his.

“You’re here,” she murmured.

“It’s my bed. Did you expect me to be somewhere else?”

“Honestly? I didn’t think you’d have the sense to stay in. Even on your birthday.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.” His hand trailed slowly up and down her arm. “After your very sweet song on my voicemail this afternoon, there was a message from Jessica. She said, and I quote, ‘Happy birthday, asshole. If I see you on the street tonight I will rip you a new one.’ She’s very...warm and kind.”

Karen laughed, suppressing the tiny twinge she felt at the fondness in Matt’s voice. She was determined not to be jealous of his friendship with Jessica Jones. It got to her sometimes — that Jessica had made Matt work a whole lot harder than Karen had to get back in her good graces, and that Matt had put in the effort without much complaint. Not to mention that Jessica could actually _fight_ alongside him. But then she reminded herself that Jessica’s message had been as much a gift to her as to Matt and she put the whole thing out of her mind.

“You should go back to sleep,” she said, tracing her finger over his collarbone and down along his bare chest. “You need it.”

“I do,” he agreed in a rumbly voice, moving his head closer on the pillow and pressing his lips to hers. “We both do.”

But his hand was sliding off of her arm to her thigh and making its way under her t-shirt to curve along her skin. She moved her fingers over his cheek and kissed him eagerly. “This isn’t really making me sleepy,” she said against his lips when they came up for air.

“Sorry,” he said. “I guess I’ve gotten used to a little action in the middle of the night.” She giggled as he kissed her again, definitely meaning business this time, and she brought her leg up and over his hip to slot their bodies closer together.

He felt so good against her, hard muscle and soft skin, and she soaked in the feeling, the slide of their lips and tongues, the brush of his beard under her palm, the electric heat blossoming between her thighs.

She used her leverage to roll them so that he was on his back and she sat up to strip off her t-shirt as she straddled him. She loved looking at him like this, all drunk with desire, his body painted by the dim, ever-changing light from the open door.

Then she leaned back down to nuzzle at his neck as his hands slid over her back to her hips. She kissed her way down to his chest, scraping her teeth against one of his nipples so that his hips bucked a bit beneath her, then lapping at it with her tongue.

She adjusted her position so she could feel him right where she wanted him, getting hard and ready between her thighs. She moved her hips, grinding against him until he was breathing heavy.

“I want to give you something,” she said quietly. “For your birthday.”

“You’ve already given me plenty,” he said.

“Not like this,” she said. She ignored the fact that a blush was creeping over her skin — her face and neck and chest surely reddening in the dark. “There has to be something you’ve thought about.” She ran her palms over the muscles of his stomach, scratched her nails teasingly over his chest.

He hesitated, a half-smile curling up one side of his lips.

“Matt,” she said, leaning down to kiss that adorable mouth of his. “Tell me.”

“You want to know what I dream about?”

“Yes,” she said. “Please.”

He licked his lips. “I want to get lost in you,” he said. “I think about you kneeling over me. Over my mouth. I think about being completely surrounded by the taste of you, the scent of you, by the feel of your skin. About being in your control.”

She inhaled sharply, and kissed him hard. She had been ready to give him whatever he wanted, but she hadn’t expected him to make her want it so damn badly herself. It was a position she’d always felt self-conscious about trying — she was tall, not tiny, and she didn’t really want to be responsible for suffocating the hero of Hell’s Kitchen. But now—now she was more than ready to go. But still—

“Are you sure?” she whispered. “That seems like more of a present for me.”

“You don’t have to,” he said reassuringly, but she was already sliding off of him to get rid of her underwear and mentally plotting out the best way to hold herself on the bed.

And it _was_ awkward at first, but the sight of him was _ohhh_ and she relaxed into it — she let it work for her — and she braced her hand against the rough brick wall behind the bed and _oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck_. He worshipped her with his mouth until her muscles were burning and her voice was straining and she could swear she had broken through to an entirely new plane of existence.

The high of release left her shaking and gasping and she forgot, for a moment, her concern about cutting off Matt’s air supply. Then he squeezed her thighs and she came quickly back down to earth. She pulled off of him, embarrassed, but there was no mistaking the dreamy smile on his lips. He didn’t mind a bit. So she cuddled into his arms, feeling blissed out and boneless.

“That was..holy shit,” she said when she could form words again. And even though he looked happy — and more than a little smug — she couldn’t help asking, ”Was it—I mean, was I—?”

“You’re incredible,” he said meaningfully, and she kissed his messy face, feeling very pleased with herself.

But there was no way she could let him give her something so spectacular — no matter how much he wanted it too — without at least trying to reciprocate. So soon she was stripping off his soft pajama bottoms and moving her lips over his cock.

“Karen,” he said raggedly as her tongue swirled around him, and she reminded herself to go slow, to be careful, even as his arousal stoked her own back into flame. Matt was incredibly sensitive, and any wrong move would be amplified. So she was meticulous as she licked and sucked and took him as deep in her throat as she could, listening to him groan and murmur nearly unintelligible things about how good she was making him feel.

But before she could work him over the edge, he was tugging her away and maneuvering them with his preternatural grace so that she was lying on the mattress and he was hovering above her.

“Oh, god, yes,” she said as she reached to help guide him inside her. “ _Matt_.”

She felt wild, ferocious with hunger for him, and she was gratified when they quickly worked up to a rhythm that was as hard and as fast as she craved. It was almost too much, but it was good, it was what she wanted, it was so, so good. And, fuck, she loved him so much and she wanted to always be this close to him and all she could do was chant his name over and over and over in her head until she was exploding and he was crying out and they were collapsing together, sweaty and glowing. And maybe it wasn’t OK for her to be this happy, but she was. She _was_.

“So,” she said later, when he’d settled next to her and she’d finally caught her breath, “slightly more enjoyable than getting punched in the face?”

He let out a breathy laugh and lifted her hand to his mouth so he could kiss her knuckles. “Remind me to send Jessica a thank-you note,” he said huskily. He pressed more kisses against her hand. “As for thanking _you_ … well, after the middle-of-the-night action, there’s usually a long, hot shower.”

“You’ve already—” she started, but he interrupted her before she could lodge her half-hearted protest.

“Let me take care of you a little,” he said, very softly, and she thought she might melt completely away.

She’d never had a better birthday, and it wasn’t even her own.


	3. Returns

Something was wrong.

Karen blinked into the pale light. She was still in Matt’s bed, but now she was alone. She didn’t hear him moving around in the bathroom or the kitchen. Everything was quiet. It made her stomach a little queasy, though she refused to let herself worry until she knew there was actually a problem.

She slid out of bed and found the t-shirt she had discarded in the middle of the night, slipping it over her head. She padded out of the bedroom and there he was, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of the closet with the new box open and memorabilia from Jack Murdock’s career spread all around him on the floor.

She didn’t startle him, of course, but he seemed to be holding himself stiffly, and she resisted the urge to start asking him questions. Well, except for one.

“Coffee?” Her voice came out scratchy. That was his fault.

But he didn’t seem to react to that. He just shook his head slightly and she kept walking, as if heading to the kitchen had always been her plan. She started the coffeemaker and then walked back across the apartment to the bathroom, as if that had always been the second part of her plan.

Matt didn’t move.

She began getting ready for work. It was early, but she had a feeling it might take them a while to leave the apartment this morning, and she figured she might as well keep busy while she waited for what was brewing — both the coffee and whatever Matt might want to talk about.

She’d known that giving him that box might bring up a mix of emotions. And she didn’t want to push. But she hoped that it hadn’t been a mistake. It hadn’t seemed like one last night, but the fault lines around Matt’s past had never been clearly defined and they might be prone to shifting. She knew her own willingness to talk about her history depended entirely on the circumstances.

Karen let the rhythms of preparing for the day ahead soothe her worries a bit. Getting ready at Matt’s always made her a little happy, even if it was slightly less convenient than her own place. She liked that she had her favorite moisturizer in the bathroom and more than one outfit to choose from hanging in the closet. She knew Matt liked it too — he smiled without fail whenever he touched anything of hers that had found a home at his place.

The next time she stepped out of the bedroom, the Battlin’ Jack relics had all been tucked away, back into the box. Except for one thing. Matt was holding what looked like a white envelope.

“There’s a letter for you,” he said as she started to cross the living room.

“For me?” Karen’s forehead creased. “Really?”

“Your name was written in pen, so it’s easy to feel,” Matt said.

He stood up and took slow steps toward her.

“Here.” He reached out with the envelope and she raised her hand to his, letting their fingers brush together, establishing contact. He didn’t pull away.

Her curiosity was piqued by the letter. It was probably just a thank-you note or something, but she wanted to tear it open right away to find out. Instead she kept it trapped between both of their hands so she could continue touching him. That was important when he pulled into himself like this.

“You OK?” she asked softly.

“Yeah, fine,” he said. He leaned in and kissed her cheek, letting go of her hand and the envelope. He turned and headed toward the bedroom, as if the contents of the letter didn’t matter to him. She wasn’t buying it.

She tore open the envelope as she slowly followed him. He opened his closet and started thumbing through his suits.

“Dear Ms. Page,” she read, under her breath, so it wasn’t obvious she was reading to him, even if he knew she knew that he could hear her, no matter how quiet she was. “I understand that you intend to share the items that my father collected with Jack Murdock’s son, Matthew. If that is indeed the case, there is one more thing I must ask you to please pass along. Enclosed in this letter is the contact information of a childhood friend of mine, Mary Sheedy, who would very much like to meet with Mr. Murdock if he can be persuaded. Mary is the former Mary McGrady, and her father is the late Gerald McGrady, who you may remember as the man young Matthew saved from—”

Karen stopped reading. She could see him in her mind — his white, tufted hair and sad eyes. She remembered Gerald McGrady staring at her from the microfilm of old editions of the Bulletin that she had looked up at the library well before she ever started working in the newsroom. Foggy had clued her in to the nature of Matt’s accident during one of those nights they went drinking, early in her tenure at Nelson & Murdock. And she’d been so startled. She hadn’t been conscious of it, really, but she’d heard _car accident_ and automatically filled in a starless night and a guardrail and losing control and _no no no_.

Her interest in Matt was already ragingly high by then, and she spent a good chunk of a weekend avoiding that bloodstain on her carpet by researching. She was equal parts fascinated and annoyed by the coverage. She could hardly fathom Matt’s heroism — he was truly remarkable and had been, apparently, pretty much since birth — but the pity that seeped from the stories got tiresome. Matt’s life was assumed to be over because he’d lost his sight. And Karen couldn’t reconcile the sad picture that was painted with the man he would become — the sensitive, intelligent lawyer who waltzed into her life and immediately saved it, even before he put on a mask and fought in a rainy alley.

Karen realized Matt’s attention was on her. He’d half-turned from the closet and seemed to be waiting for her to read on.

“Did you ever meet him?” she asked instead. “Gerald McGrady?”

Matt’s head tilted in acknowledgment but he didn’t answer right away. “Not that I remember,” he said finally. “I think he tried...in the hospital. I remember someone offering to give my dad money. But I was pretty out of it then. I was still...yelling a lot. Probably scared him.”

“Matt,” she breathed. Would he let her hold him yet? She wanted to, badly.

He turned back to his suits, so she stayed where she was.

“Do you think you’d want to…?”

He huffed. “What? Meet with his daughter? How would that go? ‘Glad I saved your dad when I couldn’t—I couldn’t do shit to save my own? That I _cheered_ when—’”

And she’d risk it, now. She’d risk him flinching away from her. She had to at least try. She dropped the letter and crossed the room rapidly. She curled her arms around him from behind, resting her head on his shoulder. She stayed like that, without speaking, until he relaxed into her, letting out a shuddering sigh. His arms came up to rest over hers, holding her in place.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered then. “I didn’t mean to…”

“No,” he said, just as softly. “It’s not…”

She squeezed even closer and focused on the warmth of his body, on the sensation of him solid in her arms. She wanted to somehow press her love in through his skin, to make him feel how deeply he was cherished. There were so many things she could say, but also nothing she could say at all. All she could do was hold on.

So she did. She held him as the light grew stronger, as the traffic began to roar, as the city came alive around them.

Of all of the gifts that had been given and received, this was the most important. As sharp as the past was, and as knotty as the future would be, all that mattered was that each morning brought them another chance, another day to be together.

Karen closed her eyes and made a wish — for more time.


End file.
